


I'll come back through slaughter, cold, but ready

by catwhoisevil



Category: Evil Dead (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, How Do I Tag, annie lives au, i guess, post evil dead 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 11:32:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18590407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catwhoisevil/pseuds/catwhoisevil
Summary: The dreams started when she woke up in hospital (she had been in a coma for three days before that).Her aunt, one of her few surviving relatives, thought she should get therapy.She should get therapy.post evil dead 2 AU where Annie survives her stab wound.





	I'll come back through slaughter, cold, but ready

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: reference to canon gore-y stuff, grief, trauma and unhealthy ways of dealing with the above
> 
> A/N: post evil dead 2 AU where Annie survives her stab wound  
> non-linear. actually one of the longer things I’ve written and Self Beta’d, so feel free to tell me if you spot a mistake  
> my first published fic, be gentle  
> oh yeah, theres a Re-Animator reference too.  
> I know nothing about grief/surviving something like this so I hope I didn’t fuck up to bad *shrugs*

By the time she got out of the hospital it was summer the next year.  
It was fall again by the time she could sleep through the night.  
  
A month after she came out of the hospital she caved and bought a gun.  
It sat on her night stand - within arms reach of the bed - just a temporary measure, she told her self, until she was sure demons weren’t _still_ trying to kill here.  
by the start of winter it was still there.  
  
The dreams started when she woke up in hospital (she had been in a coma for three days before that). Her aunt, one of her few surviving relatives, thought she should get therapy.  
She should get therapy.  
But something in her head said _why pay someone to fix a few bad dreams?_ in a voice that was painfully familiar but at the same time she couldn’t quite remember.  
  
After the hospital she moved to Arkham, New England.  
Where her aunt lived. “So we can keep an eye on you, dear” was the reasoning. “I saved the world, fought demons, you think after all this _shit_ i need to be “kept an eye on”?” Was what she didn’t say.  
Besides her parents had helped her buy her old apartment.  
She could remember walking round it with them, the real estate guy on the phone loudly in the other room, her father checking the electrics.  
  
In the fall she got job at a convenience store and a library card.  
She went to work Monday to Friday stocking shelves and on Saturdays checked big old books out of Arkham library. From the books she copied out meticulously any mention of the Necronomicon Ex Mortis or blue portals in the sky.  
  
Since she had woken up she had found everyone desperate to know how she was.  
Friends she had not seen in years where anxious to know she was all right.  
By spring she became aware everyone was walking on egg shells around her. Plus no one would give her - no matter how much she asked - no one would give her a paper.  
Then one night she over heard two nurses talking outside her room door:  
“I hate to think what she’s been through.” said one.  
“Have they caught the bastard yet? That’s what I want to know” said the other.  
“He disappeared without a trace, well except for his hand.” Said the first.  
“I’d wring his neck if I caught him.” Said the second matter-of-factly.  
  
When she gets out of hospital she buys a paper.  
Her aunt, who had somehow gotten the unshakable belief that she should get out more, takes her shopping and she sees the days paper with _his_ photo on the front page and promptly bursts into tears.  
Her aunt ushers her out of the shop but she goes back later, alone, and buys a copy.  
  
She tries to explain, patiently, to everyone she knows that he wasn’t - isn’t Damn it - a murderer,  
that he tried to save them, tried to save her,  
So far no one’s believed her.  
  
Now if people ask her about it she tells them to get lost  
Or that she saved the world.  
That second one usually gets her funny looks.  
  
By winter she still has the photo, carefully clipped out of the police appeal.  
In it he looks younger, less blood soaked, happy.  
Its tucked into the frame of the only photo she has of her parents. In its place on her night stand.  
Next to her gun.


End file.
